


Hold Me Close

by Val_Creative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Festivals, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Implied Relationships, Lazy Mornings, Mutual Pining, Nudity, POV Padmé Amidala, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Polyamory, Romance, Royalty, Sleeping Together, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Padmé has no immediate recollection of the Festival of Light, long after dusk, save for the matter of too much scentwine — purplish in quality and strong with its bright, floral aroma. She wakes among her handmaidens, come morning light, savoring their conversation and heat and presence.





	Hold Me Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anaraine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/gifts).



> It's finally time to de-anon for the **Star Wars Rarepair Exchange**! I ended up making a little something for **anaraine** on here based off their Padme/her handmaidens idea from a request list. I've tried writing this exact ship before and loved it so I'm glad to do a brand new fic! WHO DOESN'T LOVE FEMSLASH? There's not enough femslash in my fandoms and in general so I hope you guys really enjoy this and please yes any thoughts/comments are welcomed!

 

*

There's hardly been an occasion to drink herself _silly_. Not since being Queen at fourteen years old.

Naboo and its governed, esteemed individuals believed that young women were far too rational and educated to act carelessly and to put anyone, including themselves, into an extremely vulnerable position.

Padmé _hopes_ this is true. She has no immediate recollection of the Festival of Light after dusk, save for the matter of too much scentwine — purplish in quality and strong with its bright, floral aroma. Bare and thick grass against Padmé's naked toes. The crackles of rocket bombs exploding above. An ensemble of laughter, far in the distance and joyous. Sabé's dark brown eyes on her, moist with unshed tears and full of the heavenly glimmer of the universe.

 _Sab_ é — the first woman Padmé ever shared a kiss with. They had been so young, green as goblin moss while still training to be the Naboo Royal Handmaidens. She chased a laughing, bright-faced Sabé into one of the lone and dirtied corridors, pinning her to a wall and staring deeply, longingly into her eyes.

The skin on their palms had been smooth as the surface of a neutron star, their fingers locking down. Padmé initiated the kiss, furrowing her brow and touching their spit-sticky mouths together. She gasped out when Sabé's lips quickly opened against hers, her tongue curiously prodding over the fleshy, pink-flushed seam. Padmé doubts they truly knew what they were doing right then, clumsy and reckless as girls.

Padmé's skull throbs. Far too much warm and white sunlight hazes into the royal bedchambers.

She wakes sluggishly to the odor of freshly brewed caf and various perfumes and sweat. Saché notices, and yet draws no attention to either of them, quietly stroking over Padmé's temple and her forehead. The silken, round cushions feel cool and lightweight. Padmé swallows down a moan, when Yané croaks out a loud, boisterous laugh. Yané's thin chapped lips puff out a twist of pale lavender, noxious smoke.

"By all of the holy stars, you are a _brat_ ," Rabé snaps, grabbing the cigarra and tossing it. More laughter. All of her handmaidens appear to be without their garments, cozily stretching out on the bed and on each other. Eirtaé leans over to rub Yané's back, gently mouthing a line over her neck and smirking at Rabé.

Yané coos out, lifting her arms to thread her fingers into her own hair and fluttering her eyelashes. It earns an huffing noise and an eye-roll from Rabé, but the sterner and tan-skinned woman comes forward.

No one has ever been a more _precise_ markswoman than Rabé, to Padmé's memory. She's more durasteel than ice, and Yané has plenty of wildfire inside her, to melt her down and _soften_ Rabé's walls built so high and so solid. A groan of ecstasy rips out of Yané, when Eirtaé's hand locates her mound and Rabé's face presses to her cunt. She braces herself and folds her legs around Rabé's head, arching backwards into Eirtae.

Eirtaé is seemingly paler than the others, with tiny, rosebud breasts. Her golden blonde hair like star-shine, and her blue eyes are clear as Naboo's waters. She's never without _smiling_ , at the women, at Padmé, eager to please her and groom her, begging for the mutual affection given from Padmé's handmaidens.

Saché observes, as she has done since Padmé has known her, her expression solemn and pensive. Her thumb massages over Padmé's cheek until the Queen adjusts herself, sleepily taking the digit past her lips and teeth. She nibbles and grazes tenderly on Saché's thumb tasting like a hint of sweethoney and linen. The other woman shudder-exhales, her breasts heaving, gazing down on Padmé with a feverishly admiring stare.

That's when Padmé feels someone _else_ pry her away with careful intentions, holding her nakedness to themselves. "Good morning, my Queen," Sabé whispers, rasping into Padmé's ear and breathing hotly.

Every inch of Sabé feels supple and heated against the drowsiness. _Familiar_.

Padmé mewls out a low, surprised sound when Sabé's forefinger travels over her hip, etching her shape, running over her inner thigh and kneading. Saché joins her, wordlessly raising one of Padmé's knees and petting her, helping her feel calm. Sabé's forefinger pushes through the slick oozing out of Padmé's entrance and wetting to her dark brown curls, fondling with those cunt-lips, pinching, tugging lightly.

Her pure sense of arousal heightens at the welcoming, _filthy_ view of Rabé's sharp chin gleaming with Yané's fluids, as she begins to roughly finger her, panting. Yané shuts her eyes and muffles out her orgasm against Eirtaé's hand slamming down to her lips. All of Yané's face and throat deepens into crimson.

"There's tea and flatcakes with galactic fruit, left by the servants." Sabé's voice rasps again in Padmé's ear, calmly and matter-of-factly, Her mouth touches briefly over the corner of Padmé's mouth, and then her earlobe, nibbling down slowly. Padmé thinks hazily she can still taste the pickled egg and yogurt from last afternoon's meal, when Saché bends over, kissing Padmé deeply. "Rabé and Saché already took the egg omelets."

" _Bumblefluff_ ," Rabé mutters, wiping off her features with a wrist and crawling towards them.

"Forgive me," Sabé corrects herself, tonelessly. "It was _mostly_ Rabé."

A soft, clapping smack lands on Sabé's upper arm. Padmé tries to laugh along with her handmaidens, rosy and luminous in the sunlight. She moans and jolts away, her skull throbbing all-over harder than before.

They tut and fuss, hovering over Padmé until she's sheltered into the hot, comfortable darkness.

Where passion and cherishing words are not feared.

 _Regretted_.

Once they're more alert, Padmé will escort Sabé into the Palace Courtyard and ask her why. Why she cried. Cried so beautifully and dismally, when they were by themselves in a field of green and lighted skies. When celebrations outweighed their sorrows, their thoughts rooted in farewells and journeys to come.

For now, silence and this embrace from all of her handmaidens will be enough for Padmé's aches.

*

 


End file.
